I'm Not Dead
by slbunnies
Summary: They are more alike than either of them thought, even though they still have their differences. Can Harry and Draco escape their pasts and work together? Or will they be left behind in the darkness of it all? Warnings: slash, minor drug use, violence, swearing
Taking a long drag from his cigarette, Harry Potter peacefully stumbled up the walkway of number four Privet Drive. Never having owned a watch he was oblivious of the time. Although, had he known that it was four thirty in the morning - which he should have, considering he had smoked a joint for twenty past four on the way home - he would not have cared anyway. Mostly because he was still drunk. The Dursley's had never felt the need to bestow Harry with a set of house keys. This did not bother him the slightest bit for he knew how to knock.

Vernon's vociferous shouts could be heard reverberating throughout the house as he was abruptly awoken by whoever was dim-witted enough to bother him at such an ungodly hour. Harry tossed the last of his fag into the flowerpot beside the front steps. Immediately the door swung violently open, gracing Harry with the sight of his enraged uncle looking like a mad bull, eyes wide and spittle flecked across his purpled, bloated face.

Lately, Harry thought that these mannerisms were more comical than frightening and his semi-perpetual state of fucked-up-ness made such things even more hilarious. With the right combination of alcohol and marijuana he had actually been enjoying his summer thus far. He had found that a moderately large sized joint was unsurpassed in aiding his sleep. Mainly because Voldemort usually frequented his nightmares dressed in full drag. The pimp cane the Dark Lord bore was the only thing that perturbed him.

Unwisely ignoring his uncle he strode past him and into the house. Glancing into the kitchen, Harry was amused by the sight of his cousin Dudley seemingly trying to crawl into the refrigerator in search of something edible. The diet obviously was not going as planned. Now that his thoughts were focused on food his stomach grumbled wanting to be placated by munchies. That was until he was forcefully struck across the face by a large, meaty fist that was recognizably connected to his uncle.

"Where the hell have you been, boy?" Vernon fumed, looming over Harry who was now sprawled out on the pristine kitchen floor. His jaw ached as he spit out a gobbet of blood - a bruise was likely to form. It was a good thing he hadn't smoked all of his pot the night before. The obduracy he held toward his supposed guardian made him crack a grin even though it caused him pain.

Petunia was going to be furious about the mess on the floor. Pushing himself upright he stood tenaciously in front of his uncle, fear being the farthest thing from his mind.

"Where do you think I've been? Out practicing voodoo and sacrificing virgins on an altar to Satan?"

This earned him another strike across the face. Luckily he was ready for such belligerence and kept himself vertical this time. Years of the youngest and fattest of the Dursley's treating him as a punching bag had enabled him to have a sort of endurance against comparable physical violence.

"Don't get smart with me! You're an unappreciative waste of existence."

"Oh yes, that is exactly it. You're completely right of course," Harry shook his head, sighing from the fact that they had to have this argument once again. "I have much to be grateful for, don't I? The clothes you gave me – even though they were too large, the food – scraps that they were, the regular punishments, beatings, and name-calling; all these things I dearly appreciate." The sarcasm was evident and his uncle wasn't so dense that he could fail to notice it. Harry would not back down.

"You freak! How dare you say such nonsense," Vernon was looking more and more constipated as he continued to rage on, "You're an ungrateful piece of trash that was left on our doorstep unwanted," he screamed as he took a step toward Harry, "A worthless piece of garbage who acts like he's someone of importance - when all you do is eat our food, take up space, and go to that bloody freak school every year… just to come back and do it all over again."

Harry's eyes flashed darkly as he stared up at his uncle. His wand was upstairs in his room out of reach and before he had even begun to think of retrieving it he was already flying towards Vernon, more furious at him than he had ever been before.

Harry abruptly awoke in complete darkness, worried that he had been out for too long, seeing as it should have been daylight.

The cloying smell of his own blood permeated his senses as he stared blindly into the darkness. His head felt full of lead and he wondered whether a stampede of Hippogriff's could have made it into the kitchen for he had no idea what else might have caused him so much agony. Harry's body ached – his face felt swollen to the touch – and he believed it was possible that he had fractured at least a few of his ribs.

Struggling to sit up he gingerly dug in his pockets in search of his glasses. His fingers grasped two things he was amazed to know were still intact. Neither objects fit on his face. One did, however, fit nicely between his lips and before he could even consider what he was doing he found himself igniting a match and savouring the sweet aroma of the marijuana he had sucked into his lungs.

Attempting to stretch his legs out further as he began to feel slightly more relaxed from the joint he had procured, Harry instantly knew his location for he had been in the exact same position more than a hundred times before. The bastard had locked him back in the cupboard. He furiously took another drag and immediately regretted it when a coughing fit reminded him of the pain in his sides.

Taking a deep breath he simply slowly inhaled the smoke that lingered in the air, thick and pungent; he had never thought about hot-boxing the cupboard under the stairs before.

The joint was finished in a matter of minutes and Harry found himself with nothing to do but stare into the darkness of the cupboard. He used the monotonous period of time to catalogue his injuries. It was good to know what was causing him the most pain; knowing to refrain from straining certain parts of his body before he would be able to heal them himself was only sensible as it wasn't likely he would be receiving any medical attention while he resided in this hell hole. That wouldn't be possible until he was at Hogwarts or on the way to the school at the very least.

Harry rested against the cool wall, taking note of how tender the back of his head felt and wincing at the likeliness of having a concussion. Usually Vernon did not take his anger out on him quite as enthusiastically as he'd obviously done. Harry was used to a getting few smacks around the head every once in a while but this full body beating was something else entirely.

Closing his eyes he forced himself into an awkward stillness and occupied himself with imagining the exact moment he would be allowed to leave his volatile, abusive, so-called 'family' and get back to the only place he'd ever truly felt was home – Hogwarts. The images of what he wished to occur at their parting were vivid and satisfying, possibly due to his inebriated state of mind. It was all wishful thinking anyway.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, slumping further down the wall until his feet hit the other side with a loud thump. Harry winced at the sound and rubbed at his temples, hoping he would be free of the cupboard soon so he could make his escape. There was no way in hell that he was staying. They would have to let him back out eventually.


End file.
